


Different Worlds

by kaletra7



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Hand Jobs, Shower Sex, Vaginal Fingering, rhys prefers to take his time, sasha is in a hurry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-30 19:28:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10883406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaletra7/pseuds/kaletra7
Summary: She slides the door a little further, and Rhys sees a naked shoulder and then an expanse of fluffy, cream towel. He, very nobly, stops himself from looking too closely, because she’s not holding the towel very tightly and there’s a slit (deliberate or not) that exposes alotof thigh. There’s something in Sasha’s face that reads like a challenge. Like she’s daring him to approach, the way a predator might wait patiently for its prey to wander curiously into its trap.“Can you come in here for a minute?”





	Different Worlds

Rhys has always been a Hyperion man. Even now, with Helios gone and Atlas at his fingertips, Rhys can’t let go of where he came from. Hyperion was never just a company; it was a way of life, a culture and a religion all in one. He was born Hyperion, he grew up Hyperion, he breathed, ate and slept Hyperion. _Existed_ Hyperion. 

And now it’s all over. Hyperion still looms over him, but it’s becoming a smaller part of his existence by the day. Some days he thinks about Helios too much; remembers and remembers until it hurts because he killed them all. Hundreds of people died because Rhys needed Jack gone. And the crash didn’t even kill him. Handsome Jack still lingered there in the rubble, surrounded by the corpses of Rhys’ co-workers.

Sometimes Rhys misses the voice in his head.

“What’s wrong with you?” 

That voice is most certainly _not_ in his head.

He abandons the irrigation plans that are going absolutely nowhere and turns, unable to help the smile that slides onto his face when he sees Sasha lurking in the doorway. She’s frowning at him, but she’s still beautiful. So he smiles.

“Everything?”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

Sasha bounds down the stairs and approaches his console, brimming with her usual energy. Both of her hands land on it, narrowly avoiding the keys, and Rhys winces at how close she comes to deleting his morning’s work. Not that it matters; he’s done nothing of any merit all day. It’s just nonsense and guesswork.

“Be careful,” he scolds gently, though his heart’s not in it.

“No.” Sasha would never admit that she listens to him, but Rhys notices her hands shift ever so slightly as she ensures she’s not touching anything important. “What’re you working on?” 

“Some kind of irrigation system.” He waves it aside with a quick flick of his hand. “I’m getting nowhere with it, and that’s definitely not what you’re here for, is it?”

“No, it’s not.” Rhys hears Fiona’s voice before he sees her. She rounds the corner and nods politely at him, eyes flickering to Sasha in what might be a warning glance. Her permission for him to pursue something – whatever it is – with her little sister is one thing, but considering how little they’ve seen of each other since that conversation, _permission_ doesn’t mean he’s in the clear. 

“And here I was, hoping you guys just wanted to visit and keep me company.”

“You knew we were coming for the showers, Rhys, don’t be a jackass.”

“No, I know.” He makes a show of taking the plans off his console and instead showing them the reason they made the trip. The showers were a pet project, rather than real work, but to have them functioning and ready is still something Rhys is fairly proud of. “Here we go. Fully user-controlled water flow and temperature.”

Sasha lets out a noise of excitement and Rhys grins at just how damn _adorable_ he finds it. And promptly drops the grin when he imagines how furious she’d get if he ever called her that to her face. 

“Fi, _hot showers_ ,” she exclaims in Fiona’s direction, expression dreamy and wistful. “Have you ever had a real shower in _hot water_?” 

Fiona’s lip twitches into a smile. “No. I haven’t.”

Rhys never fails to be amazed by them. These two tough, streetwise women who have saved his life more times than he can count, who have taught him more about life on Pandora than anyone else, and yet have never even taken a hot shower. They’ve had totally different existences. He’d never even fired a gun (of the non-finger variety, at least) before he met them; they’d spent their whole lives scrapping for survival.

Completely different worlds. _Literally_.

“Then let’s change that,” he announces, leading the way out of his workspace and down through the laboratories. As “official Atlas projects”, the showers have been shoved down where the serious stuff normally goes. Or would go, if Rhys had actually managed to accomplish anything important over the last couple of months. As it stands, the showers are pretty much the only thing down there. 

Sasha and Fiona follow where he leads them; Fiona picking up everything she can find and Sasha eagerly skipping as quickly as she can towards the promised hot water. There’s enough blueprints and gadgets down here to at least make it _look_ like he’s been working hard, so Rhys isn’t shy about walking them through the laboratory. 

“They’re here,” Rhys gestures when he reaches the sliding doors, tapping one with his artificial hand. “There’s towels on the counter over there.”

Sasha grabs one of the fluffy, Hyperion towels that he scavenged from the Helios wreckage, cuddling it to her chest like it’s treasure. “Can we take as long as we want?” she asks shyly, like the question has been on her mind for a while.

_Adorable. Adorable. Adorable._

“Absolutely.” Even Fiona cracks a grin at that. Rhys passes her the other towel and the con-woman nods her thanks as she takes it.

“You do have good ideas every once in a while, Hyperion, I’ll give you that.”

The sisters don’t hang around for long, both quickly disappearing into their respective cubicles. It warms Rhys, in a way, to know that he’s finally doing some kind of good on the planet, even if it’s only bringing a smile to the faces of two people. It’s something, at least. 

A blueprint catches his eye, and Rhys paces over to the other end of the lab to examine it in further detail. It’s one of his early irrigation prototypes; a system for channelling water pipes through fictional fields to grow fictional crops. One of the biggest difficulties with trying to implement crop farming on Pandora is finding people willing to even try it; most of the population, if they’re not psychotic, are totally set in their ways. Trying to persuade Pandorans to try something new, especially coming from a background like his, is just asking for failure. He has the Children of Helios to work with, but that’s about it. 

And, as Vaughn so insightfully put it, they’re pretty much shitty at everything. 

“Rhys?”

Sasha’s voice comes quietly from a crack in the door. Rhys turns, surprised, and sees her head poking around from inside the shower room. It’s the first time he’s seen her without a headband of any sort, and her hair flops unceremoniously over one eye. 

“Yeah? Need some help with the settings?”

“Something like that.” She slides the door a little further, and Rhys sees a naked shoulder and then an expanse of fluffy, cream towel. He, very nobly, stops himself from looking too closely, because she’s not holding the towel very tightly and there’s a slit (deliberate or not) that exposes a _lot_ of thigh. There’s something in Sasha’s face that reads like a challenge. Like she’s daring him to approach, the way a predator might wait patiently for its prey to wander curiously into its trap. “Can you come in here for a minute?”

And now he has a choice to make. Because on the one hand, the invitation is blatant. She hasn’t _said_ what she wants, but it would take an idiot to be oblivious; and despite what Fiona has said on _countless_ occasions, Rhys isn’t an idiot. Which brings him to the problem. Fiona is in the next room, and he honestly doesn’t know if he can do this with her _right there_. Something about it makes him feel distinctly dirty. And not in a good way. 

“I- uh.” Not his articulate best. Sasha’s eyebrow twitches.

“I just need you to… _play around_ with a couple of things.”

Her tone is straight from one of those terrible porn videos he saw before he was really old enough to understand them. Crap, maybe that’s all the porn they have down here. Despite her ridiculous choice of words, however, there’s a distinct display of interest from his cock.

So he’s going to have to make this decision now, before his thought process is completely biased by a throbbing boner. 

“Sure.” It comes out as less of a squeak than his last few words, but he clears his throat afterwards all the same. “I’ll just, you know, come take a look at… whatever you need me to… play with.”

It’s been a while.

Sasha smiles. It starts out as a sultry bite of her lip – something else she’s clearly seen and never tried out – but she can’t hold the illusion and ends up just giving him a grin instead. That’s what he wants more of, he thinks as he brushes her cheek softly with his organic hand. He wants to see Sasha, not some strange, artificial version of Sasha that she thinks he’d like. 

Unsurprisingly, the water is already running when he steps into the shower room, but he plays along anyway. If the blush rapidly spreading across her cheeks is anything to go by, she’s actually _nervous_ about this, and Rhys isn’t planning on being a dick and freaking her out even more, so he keeps up the charade she’s created for the both of them. 

“What seems to be the problem?”

At least, he isn’t planning on being a dick until she makes a _terrible_ innuendo about leaky pipes and he can’t help but splutter out a laugh. Instantly, Sasha’s brow creases and, totally uncharacteristically, looks like she might burst into tears, so he quickly stops himself.

“Hey, no, I’m sorry. You need me to look at… uh… pipes?” It’s still funny. 

She folds her arms across her chest, and she’s instantly back to the _real_ Sasha. The Sasha she knows. The Sasha that punches him in the shoulder and calls him Hyperion Boy.

“Well, not _now_.”

“I’m really sorry. It was just… you have to admit, that was pretty funny.”

“Don’t _laugh_ at me, Rhys. I’ve never had to do this before, I’m improvising.”

“You don’t _have_ to do it now.”

“Yeah, I do.” She sighs, exasperated, and pulls the towel a little tighter around her. Clearly the gap _was_ for his benefit, because she knows exactly where it is to close it off again. “You’re just so different from the other guys I’ve been with. I mean, August would be in here already, you know what I mean? Nobody waits around on Pandora.”

She’s upset. He’s an asshole.

“Well, I’m sorry if I made you feel like you have to… work harder, or something. You don’t. At all. I’ve just been, you know, waiting for the right moment.”

“I’m naked. You’re clearly not busy. Is this not the right moment?”

Rhys pauses. Because she’s right, this clearly is the right moment. Or it would be, if not for the occupant of the next room. 

“Fiona’s right there,” he protests, already knowing it sounds like a lame excuse even before it comes out of his mouth. 

Sasha saunters the few steps between them, reaches up to the back of his neck, and tugs him down for a hard kiss. This is familiar territory, Rhys thinks as he settles his hands in the small of her back. They’ve done this before. They do this a _lot_ , actually, much to poor Fiona’s chagrin. It’s only the distance that’s been stopping them recently; Rhys wanted to get to work as soon as possible on the Atlas Facility, while Fiona maintained that the place freaked her out if she spent too long in it. So the sisters went back to Hollow Point, and Rhys was deprived of his regular sessions of kissing Sasha. Which was a real tragedy.

A brief sting of pain tells him that she’s just given his lip a playful bite, so his grip reflexively tightens on her back, artificial arm included. And if she didn’t already believe he was interested, the fact that he’s just pulled her against his rapidly-hardening cock should give her some indication. 

“You’re right, Rhys,” she says as she suddenly tugs her mouth away from his and makes to pull away; he lets her go straight away, but not without some twisted part of his mind reminding him that he _could_ very easily stop her. Sasha is the strongest woman he knows, but his artificial arm could pin her in place with total ease, and he wouldn’t even have to break a sweat over it.

Gross.

“You’re so right.” Sasha smiles at him, though there’s still a spark of challenge in her eyes that lets him know this isn’t over. Not by a long shot. “Fiona’s in the next room. So if you don’t want to stay-”

She drops the towel.

“- then close the door on your way out.”

_Oh, that’s just not fair_. 

Sasha grins, all defiance and smugness and _daring_ him to do something, before she turns and makes her way towards the hot water. Rhys allows himself a second to acknowledge the fact that she just played him _easily_ , and then hastily starts shucking his jacket as he watches her step under the spray.

“Oh my God,” she groans as soon as the water hits her, and Rhys sees the tension wind its way out of her shoulders.

“Good, right?” He’s proud of his work here, and it’s pretty damn rewarding to see someone experiencing it. Not to mention experiencing her _first hot shower ever_. Pandora is fascinatingly disgusting. 

“The _best_.” Sasha’s blissful tone is urging him to undress faster, if anything, but he hesitates when he gets to his undershirt. Rhys doesn’t know just how many artificial limbs she’s seen, but there’s a massive difference between just seeing the arm itself, and seeing where it connects to his shoulder. His work is neat, of course; he wouldn’t accept anything but the best for something getting hooked up to his own body, but he imagines it’s still a jarring sight. 

Still, it’s not like she doesn’t know about it. She’s hardly going to be _surprised_. 

“Are you coming in or not?”

Yes. He is.

Rhys drops the undershirt in a heap with the rest of his clothes, drops his underwear with barely a second thought, and joins her under the hot spray. It really is some of his best work, but he doesn’t really get a lot of time to think about it because she’s suddenly on him like an animal, a wild flurry of kissing and limbs and soft, brown skin. He vaguely registers that her legs are wrapped around his waist, but when he finally gets a moment to breathe, he realises that he’s holding her up almost entirely with his artificial arm cupped neatly under her ass.

“Woah.”

He’s filled with pride at that, before he realises she’s not talking about his impressive feat of strength, but instead staring at his shoulder juncture. There’s no alarm in her face, though, just obvious curiosity. _Fascination_ , even. Having Sasha look at _any_ part of him like that is intoxicating, so Rhys stoops his head a little and kisses the flesh just above her left breast. It’s a little _you’re here too, don’t forget that_ , gesture, and while she squirms like a cat in his grasp, she also pulls herself closer to his wandering mouth and giggles. Her attention is still on his shoulder, though.

“You made this one yourself, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” he answers against her throat.

“It’s awesome.” That’s what he was going for. Rhys brushes her hair away from her face with his free hand-

\- _because he has a free hand because he’s only using one to hold her up; inspirational_ –

\- and kisses her, gently this time, and Sasha’s lips move against his own with the same soft, unhurried pace. He’s not in the mood to rush things. Rhys has wanted this moment for a while, but not specifically the sex part. Sure, he can’t lie, that’s probably the most exciting part, but he’s been waiting for them to share a level of intimacy like this. Waiting to see what she looks like, how many scars she has, where she likes to be kissed, how she wants him to touch her, what her face looks like when she comes… 

“Put it in, Rhys.”

“Wha-?”

Sasha wriggles in his grasp, shoving her hips down so she can grind against his cock. And as _spectacular_ as the prospect of letting her sink down onto him is, he’s slightly perturbed by her completely missing a vital step of his process.

“You don’t have foreplay on Pandora?” he asks, amused. Sasha stops writhing around and lowers her legs to the floor, back to the standard glowering that he’s far too familiar with.

“Of _course_ we do,” she sighs, exasperated, “but I’ve been waiting for this for _months_ , Rhys, and I want it _now_.”

“As flattering as that is,” Rhys responds with a grin that he can’t help, “I’m much more of a slow-and-steady kind of guy.”

She looks practically _miserable_ at his temporary rejection, so Rhys herds her back under the full spray of the water, keeping one hand on her ass to confirm that _yes, I’m still very interested_.

“Your hand’s so soft,” she comments lightly as he steers her into position.

“Good thing or bad thing?” He’s not entirely sure.

“Good thing. Everyone down here has sandpaper hands. Or gloves.”

“Just for my own curiosity, then,” he asks nonchalantly as he moves his artificial hand around to join the organic one, and grabs a handful of her ass. “How’s this one?” He doesn’t grip tightly enough to bruise, but it’s far rougher than anything he’s done to her thus far. Sasha’s startled little gasp almost makes him feel bad, but her shuddering sigh and heavy eyelids make him feel something else entirely.

“ _Hard_.”

She leans up like she’s going to kiss him again, but Rhys uses his grip on her ass to turn her around instead. Sasha lets out a little whine at her foiled plan, though her complaints are soon silenced when Rhys’ fingers traverse her ribs and end up edging just below her breasts.

“What are you doing?” she asks, obviously meaning to sound bored, but faltering as his thumb reaches up to brush her left nipple.

“Touching you,” Rhys answers innocently. He wants to know what she likes and what she doesn’t like. What’s going to make her squirm for all the right reasons, and what might make her pull away from him. His feather-light circling of her nipples is an obvious winner, considering how eagerly she arches into his hands whenever he pauses. “Talk to me, Sasha. Tell me what you like.”

“Being _fucked_ ,” she whines indignantly, though her resolve is fading fast, and she very quickly follows up with, “ _Ah_ , not so hard,” when Rhys gives one of her nipples an experimental pinch. He soothes it with his thumb as he tilts his head to nip at her ear, and feels Sasha _melt_ backwards against him, sinking her weight onto his body and trusting him not to let her fall.

“Sensitive there?” he asks against her ear.

“Yeah.” Her left hand reaches up to tangle in his hair, and she gives it a sharp tug just because she can. “Hurts if you’re too rough with them.”

“Sorry.” Rhys is somewhat hypnotised by how good she looks, shower spray dripping down her lithe form, mouth open and lips swollen, eyes closed in the simultaneous bliss of the hot water and Rhys’ gentle soothing of her nipples. He watches, rapt, as her free hand slides between her legs and she wastes no time in finding her own rhythm, pleasuring herself in a way he hadn’t planned on getting to yet.

“You’re not patient,” he quips.

“Never have been,” she agrees. “Don’t like waiting.”

“So I see.”

She’s not exactly making this exploration thing easy for him. In all his fantasies, Sasha had been totally willing to let him take his time; to learn her completely before zeroing in on what worked for her the most. Reality-Sasha has far less patience, and seems to be more keen on the _figure it out as we go along_ approach. Rhys thinks he can respect that.

Besides, he’s already got enough data to make some accurate hypotheses. 

He takes her by the shoulder and gently turns her back to him. Sasha’s hand is still between her legs, she looks all relaxed and loose-limbed and the whole picture is just incredible. She makes to take her hand away, eyes his cock with expectation, but he’s not quite done with making her wait. 

“Keep going,” he requests, nodding towards her stilled hand, and despite her questioning look, he sees her start to gently stroke her clit again. “I want to watch.” 

“That’s hot.” Sasha grins at him, backs herself against the wall for purchase, and then, for lack of a better phrase, goes to town. He observes what she does carefully, noting the circling of two fingers over her clit, followed by the playing of a single finger over her entrance, only dipping inside enough to tease. “I normally use both hands,” she admits breathily, waggling the fingers on the hand she’s using to brace herself against the wall.

Rhys is nothing if not a problem-solver. 

“Here,” he says as he drops to his knees, takes her left leg and carefully positions it onto his shoulder. “I’ve got you. Go wild.”

“Yeah, ‘cause this is _definitely_ the best way to help me keep my balance.” Sasha laughs and gives his shoulder a push with her foot, but she brings her other hand down anyway. From here, Rhys has a _more than_ perfect view of exactly what she’s doing. It’s a completely obscene position, but neither of them could ever be accused of being shy, he thinks as he mouths at the flesh of her thigh. One of Sasha’s hands continues the circling motion, a little rougher now, while two fingers of the other play at the entrance of her pussy. “The angle’s wrong.”

“Want some help?”

“I was hoping you weren’t just down there for moral support.”

Rhys bites at the dark stain he’s been sucking in her thigh, then grins a toothy grin up at her. His left hand slides up to join hers, pausing in its journey for a moment to caress over a scar just above her knee that his new ECHO-eye tells him is a skag bite. 

“Are you scanning me, Hyperion?” he hears Sasha ask from above him, and he blinks his glowing eye back to yellow before he looks up to meet her gaze.

“Of course not.” Rhys strokes up and over her mound, fingertips sliding through the wiry hair. Every single one of his past girlfriends, without exception, shaved or waxed everything down there to within an inch of its life. Not because he’d asked them to or anything, but because that’s just the way things _were_ on Helios. But Sasha is Pandora through and through; wild and unrestrained and completely without rules. God, he loves her.

Oh God, he _loves_ her.

“Stop _looking_ and get to _touching_ , Rhys,” Sasha grumbles.

“What do you need?” he asks, ghosting his fingers over her own, still rubbing precise little circles over her clit. 

“Inside,” she responds breathily, “Just one. Or two. And curl them.”

The precise instructions are actually appreciated, Rhys finds, as he slides a single digit over her pussy and she sighs out a delighted “ _yes_ ”. Normally, he’d use his right hand for this, but she’s already commented on the feeling of his organic hand, so he’s not going to gamble on it. He sinks one finger into her and Sasha’s breath catches in her throat. “Two,” she pleads almost immediately, and Rhys is only too happy to oblige. Sasha’s hand moves almost frantically over her clit, while the other flails to find something to hold onto, eventually settling on grabbing Rhys’ hair and pulling so hard it stings. He curls his fingers like she asked, pressing into the soft, spongy tissue and rubbing in an insistent rhythm. 

“Like this?” he asks, and her sharp inhale is all the answer he needs. He can tell it’s working because her breathing is starting to get snappy and irregular, and her fingers are tugging so hard at his hair that it’s actually starting to get really painful. Rhys almost, _almost_ pulls her hand away from his head, but she’s getting close and he doesn’t want to interrupt her rhythm for fear of a kick in the head or something equally as unappealing. 

All at once, the stinging in his scalp is replaced by her cupping the back of his head and pulling him towards her. “I want your mouth,” she begs, “Please, Rhys, I want your mouth on me.” 

Well, alright then. 

He moves towards her so quickly that she’s barely moved her fingers out of the way before his mouth lands against her clit. Rhys catches her hand with his metal one as she moves to take it away, pulling it instead to his mouth and alternating between sucking at her clit and lapping the taste of her from her own fingers. “Get _on_ with it,” she pleads, snatching her hand out of his grasp and tangling it with the other in his hair. Rhys obliges, sealing his mouth over her clit and abusing it with his tongue, unrelenting and hard, in the same circular pattern he watched her draw. Sasha keens, little gasps of pleasure escaping her as he works, helping her climb higher and higher towards the peak that she’s trying to reach.

All at once, her entire body tightens and trembles, fingers tugging again at his hair until it hurts. Sasha wails loudly, so loudly that he vaguely worries about Fiona hearing, before he remembers that he doesn’t care at all, he just wants to hear her making that noise, again and again and again. From this position, he can’t see her face, but he can imagine what she looks like in the throes of orgasm. And he’s going to have to keep imagining until the next time he can get his hands on her, when he’s going to _insist_ on being able to look properly.

“Too much,” she growls warningly, and Rhys shifts to lap long, slow licks along her pussy, deliberately avoiding her clit as best he can. He catches the little nub by accident on one lick, and Sasha repays him by yanking his hair so hard he feels like he’s going to have whiplash.

“ _Ow_ , damn it, Sasha.”

“I _said_ it was too much,” she argues, voice catching in a little “ _ah_ ” as Rhys eases his fingers out of her. She grasps his hand in both of hers and raises it to her mouth, following his earlier lead and sucking her own juices from his fingers. Rhys gets to his feet as he watches her, stunned and amazed and utterly, utterly adoring. Sasha grins at him, all playful and wide-eyed, and nips the end of his finger between her sharp little teeth. “I taste good,” she declares, and Rhys can’t help but nod in agreement.

“Yeah, you do.”

“Hm.” She lurches forward and kisses his throat, prompting Rhys to rock his head backwards so she can have better access. “It’s _always_ nice when you’re quiet, but I’m gonna have to start occupying your mouth like _that_ more often.” 

“No complaints here,” he says with a light smile.

“Good.” One of her hands finds his cock, neglected and burning and hard as steel, and she wraps her fingers around it, tugging a gasp of pleasure from his throat. “I think you’ve given me a taste for this _watching_ thing,” she murmurs playfully against his throat, before she turns them and backs him against the wall, shoving him roughly into the tiles and biting down into his throat.

Rhys lets his head knock against the wall, eyes closing and throat wordlessly bared for more of her aggressive treatment. She strokes his cock hard, quicker than he would have liked but somehow it works with the biting and the nails of her other hand digging into the back of his neck, and it’s all just too good.

He tries to hold on, thinks about Vasquez’s faceless head, about skin pizza, about the effects of his stun baton, about Vaughn’s boring accounting talk, but Sasha is just too _good_ and she’s everywhere, surrounding him. She’s in his head and his lungs and wrapped around his dick and his heart in equal measure. 

“Come on, Rhys,” she growls in his ear, tugging the earlobe between her teeth. “Let go. I wanna see.” 

So he does. Because he knows full well he can’t force himself to deny her. With a juddering sigh and a tightening in his belly, he comes all over her hand, her belly, her waist. Sasha coos joyfully, smoothing her hand over his stomach and rubbing his own cum into his skin. He feels like it should bother him, but the orgasm has rendered him practically boneless, and he sags against the wall and lets her do what she will. They’re in a shower, after all. Best place for messy sex. 

“There you go,” she whispers into his ear, and his cock gives a valiant twitch like it’s trying to go a second time. “Knew you’d like being pushed around.” Rhys turns his head to catch her lips against his own and kisses her lazily. It’s sloppy and uncoordinated and nothing like his best work, but she hums happily against his mouth. “You’re so _easy_ after you come,” she eventually sighs. 

Rhys doesn’t bother answering, instead just grasps her hips and guides both of them back under the spray of water. It’d be a shame if she came all this way for a hot shower and didn’t even spend _half_ her time in the water.

They’re quiet for a few minutes, enjoying the last of the hot water before it inevitably starts to cool. Sasha’s fingers wander, explorative, across the tattoo on his chest, dancing through the pattern like it fascinates her. It probably does, he realises, considering this is the first time she’s seeing it properly. Every now and then, her eyes wander to where the artificial arm joins to his shoulder. Rhys takes one of her hands in his real one – his _soft_ one – and guides it up to the metal joint. 

“It’s alright,” he says when she hesitates. Sasha takes that as confirmation, and gently touches the metal, running her fingers across where the wiring connects organic and synthetic materials.

“Can you feel that?” she asks quietly as she plucks at one of the exposed wires.

“No. The nerve-simulators are only connected to sensors on the outside.”

Sasha’s touch leaves his shoulder and slides down his arm, all the way down to his own artificial hand. “You can feel this, though?” she smiles as she intertwines their hands.

“Yeah.” Rhys grins at her and gives her hand the tiniest squeeze, as small as he can muster. “I can.”

**Author's Note:**

> five minutes after this, they came face to face with Fiona, who gave Rhys a look so accusatory that he thought he was legitimately about to be shot in the face. 
> 
> come follow me on tumblr at kaletra7.
> 
> [ko-fi.](http://ko-fi.com/kaletra)


End file.
